


Five scars Rodney got since he came to the Pegasus galaxy

by Lenore



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: 5 Things, Episode Related, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-07
Updated: 2006-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-05 10:57:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For a prompt from <a href="http://aurora-84.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://aurora-84.livejournal.com/">aurora_84</a>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Five scars Rodney got since he came to the Pegasus galaxy

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt from [](http://aurora-84.livejournal.com/profile)[aurora_84](http://aurora-84.livejournal.com/).

Rodney has found complaining to be the best form of therapy since...well, forever. If he can point to something, name it, make people acknowledge it, whether they want to or not, he owns it, it doesn't own him. So after every scrape, every inter-planetary misadventure, Rodney catalogues his wounds to anyone who'll listen.

He shows off a white puckered place on his forearm after their unsuccessful first contact with the people of PCX-M14. "Not even my first one from a spear."

Sheppard's lips quirk into a smile. "You're a tiger."

"My people consider scars earned in battle to be signs of honor," Teyla says solemnly.

Ronon just rolls his eyes.

And that's it, the end of it. PCX-M14 is consigned to a distant file cabinet in his memory.

It's the other scars, Rodney knows, that are the real problem. The silent, invisible things that cut you, that no one knows, that you can never tell anyone. These are the marks that matter, and Rodney keeps a private inventory.

One came from Gaul, because he'd been _right_, damn him. Rodney had been dying to get out there and join the fight, but God. Not like that. _Never_ like that.

One was from Sheppard. Three words incised on his nightmares. _So long, Rodney._

One is the face of a woman on PCX-679. He never quite caught her name, although she'd been eager with hospitality, inviting him to her table, pouring out tea into a cup painted with flowers, setting it in front of him. Usually the natives were like background noise to him, but there was something about her that made him look closer. That's when he realized. The delicate severity of her features, her wide blue eyes alive with curiosity...she reminded him rather startlingly of Jeannie.

The woman had smiled. "We don't get many visitors through the gate. I want to hear all about your adventures."

Hushed determination in the request, and he'd thought of his sister when she was little, waiting for him in the afternoons, peppering him with questions about that great mystery called school.

This woman, this world...it was before they'd realized what Teyla's necklace really was, before they understood that they were painting a giant target on any planet they intruded on. Maybe ten minutes had gone by when the deadly buzz of a Dart filled the air.

Rodney hadn't stopped to think. He'd just grabbed the woman by the arm and started running with her toward the cloaked jumper, the one place that was even marginally safe from the Wraith. But she'd looked back over her shoulder and cried out a name, wrenched away from Rodney. "I can't leave my family!" And then she was running again, but the wrong way.

She had nearly made it back to her house when the beam swallowed her up. The Dart turned, cutting a swatch through more helpless people, heading in Rodney's direction. But he couldn't move. Couldn't unclench his hand even to draw his weapon.

It was Teyla who half dragged him to the jumper, while Sheppard and Ford held off the Dart with their P-90s.

Sheppard threw himself into the pilot's seat and chased after the Wraith ship, losing it when it went back through the gate.

"Everyone okay?" he asked, once it was gone.

"She wouldn't come with me," Rodney mumbled under his breath.

"What was that, doc?" Ford asked, as he dialed Atlantis.

Rodney just shook his head.

Sheppard shot him a concerned look, but waited until they were back home, finished with the obligatory visit to Carson and the post-mission debriefing and finally alone, before he asked, "So what happened back there?"

"I don't know," Rodney said, not because he wanted to lie. There just wasn't any way to explain it.

Sheppard scrutinized him closely, then patted him on the shoulder. "Try to be more careful, huh, buddy?"

And Rodney has, ever since. All the many planets they've visited, all the people they've met, he's never looked too closely again.

* * *

Two of the marks on Rodney are courtesy of Kolya, although one is only physical, thin, raised lines left by a knife. It's the other one that's truly indelible. Behind his eyes, where the after-images burn, there's a scar in the shape of an old man's face.

* * *

The last one whispers Kolya's name, but it's actually the handiwork of the Replicators.

Hideous and intimate. Rodney hadn't meant to say even that much. Sheppard had bided his time before asking what it meant, letting days go by, then finally sidling up to the question over a bowl of popcorn and Dr. Who DVDs, paving the way with a confession of his own.

"We had to destroy Atlantis, and somebody had to stay to push the button. That's what they made me believe."

"You were the one who stayed." It's not a question.

Sheppard nods, then manages something of a grin. "You offered to flip a coin for it."

"Yes," Rodney says flatly, "because that's so like me."

Sheppard regards him seriously. "It is, actually. So. Was it— was what they made you believe on the order of that?"

"Something like it," Rodney says carefully. "I also had to— choose."

He should have known, in so many ways. This is what he thinks whenever he takes out the memory to shamefully examine it. But it seemed so real, Kolya, the underground bunker, the ludicrous demand.

"You're going to build a weapon for us, Dr. McKay. A very important weapon. But first, to demonstrate your cooperativeness, you're going to take part in a little problem-solving exercise."

Kolya had slapped down two sets of papers onto the table in front of him. "You have a complete list of Atlantis personnel, all 212 members, and a blank list numbered 1 through 211, on which you'll prioritize the importance of these people to the mission, starting with the least and ending with the most crucial." Kolya smiled, as if he were having fun. "We won't ask you to put yourself on the list. No one doubts your rightful place at the top of it."

Rodney crossed his arms over his chest. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. How am I possibly supposed to decide everyone's relative worth? By how well they shoot a gun? Negotiate a treaty? Play Parcheesi?"

Kolya drew a knife from a leather sheath on his belt and admired the blade in the light. Rodney's heart tried its best to leap up into his throat.

"Think big picture, Dr. McKay. How much does any one individual contribute to the survival of the people on Atlantis?"

There was sweat on Rodney's forehead, threatening to trickle into his eyes. "Just tell me what kind of weapon you want. I'm not going to reduce the people I serve with to—"

The knife came down against his flesh without any warning.

"Fuck!"

Kolya held Rodney's arm down on the table, applying himself studiously to the cutting. Two Genii soldiers clamped their hands around Rodney's shoulders to keep him from struggling away.

"Number 211. Choose."

"No!"

Blade through skin and tissue, again, again.

"Choose."

"Wilson!"

A young Marine, one of the most recent arrivals, kind of squirrelly looking. Rodney knew that Sheppard was keeping an eye on him.

"Good." Kolya smiled and let him go. Blood had already soaked through his sleeve. "210 now, if you please."

It went on like that, a choice, the threat of the blade, then another choice. And the worst part was: Rodney could do it. Could convert the people who risked their lives next to him every day into a set of variables, neat strings of equations. Was the geology lab tech more valuable or the Marine who guarded the stargate? Rodney had a formula for it.

He kept thinking that if he could just get this silly exercise over with and move on to the weapon-making, then he could get his hands on something dangerous. Then he could outsmart them.

When he was finished, he was cold with sweat, and his arm throbbed unmercifully. Kolya took the paper from him.

"Let's se who we have in the top ten. Number one, Colonel Sheppard." Kolya smirked. "Why am I not surprised by that? Then Dr. Weir, Dr. Zelenka, Dr. Beckett, Teyla Emmagen, Ronon Dex, Major Lorne, Lt. Cadman, Dr. Simpson, Dr. Miko Hara." He handed the list off to one of his minions. "Well, thank you, Doctor. That gives us a much clearer idea who we need to kill in order to make our next attempt to take control of Atlantis more successful."

Rodney came flying up out of his chair. "Hey! You said—"

The Genii soldiers unceremoniously forced back down.

"Oh, come now, Dr. McKay," Kolya chided, clearly amusing himself. "You know the most dangerous weapon is information." He clapped his hands together. "Well, I'd better go get started on that list. You know, I almost regret having to do away with Colonel Sheppard. I have a grudging respect for the man." He shrugged. "But I can't afford to ignore the data."

Kolya was still laughing in Rodney's head when he woke up on the floor in the Replicator's city.

 

Sheppard passes him the bowl of popcorn and asks in a deceptively conversational way, "So, Atlantis was in danger in your delusion too, huh?"

Rodney nods. "You could say that."

Sheppard smiles. "I'm sure you saved the day."

Rodney swallows hard. He pictures Sheppard, alone even in his own head, sacrificing himself for an empty city. "What part of 'hideous' makes you think that?"

"Hey." Sheppard elbows him gently, tantamount to a hug from someone else. "It wasn't real."

"No," Rodney admits.

Although he will always have to wonder, _What if it had been?_


End file.
